


3AM

by sycamore



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, F/M, Literature, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2019-11-05 11:55:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17918309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sycamore/pseuds/sycamore
Summary: Steven Stone x ReaderImported from DeviantArt.





	3AM

**Author's Note:**

> Original story link: https://www.deviantart.com/polydeuce/art/3am-steven-stone-x-reader-571184670

He woke up panting, heart racing, sweat dropping from his cheek. This was the third time.

In the moonlight, his collection beside him gave off a soft glow, but it wasn’t enough to calm his anxiety.

Tossing his covers aside, Steven stood up; the cold air stinging his sweat-ridden, bare torso, but he paid it no mind. He made his way to the kitchen, like he did the last two nights.

He poured himself a glass of cold water, which always seemed to calm his nerves. But this time, he was too shaken; he had missed the glass by an inch, and now a puddle of water glistened on his kitchen counter.

Annoyed, Steven gave up the glass, putting it back in its cupboard and exchanging it with a towel. He soaked the water up, now fully awake to feel to effects of regret, and tossed it into the sink for him to deal with in the morning.

But he didn’t even notice the _clog_ of damp cloth hitting metal; he didn’t even register the little droplets of water splashed onto his body. His attention was somewhere else entirely—outside the window, on the edge of a cliff at the corner of Mossdeep where the land meets the sea, he saw the figure that was haunting his dreams.

She turned her head around, and Steven could see the faintest hint of a smile—then he blinked, then she was gone.

—

Wallace was particularly not a good theorist.

The man was seated opposite of Steven, painted finger stirring his tea as he heard out his friend account for his dreams. At the end of it all, he had only one conclusion. 

“Soulmates.”

It wasn’t an unexpected answer from Wallace, but Steven had hope he would have took something seriously once. Apparently, that day has yet to come.

“Highly improbable,” Steven replied. “If she were my soulmate, why would she haunt my dreams?”

“Why wouldn’t she? I mean, I’d love to get a look at whatever you’re thinking about at night.”

Steven, who often laughed at his friend’s lame excuses for jokes, felt exhausted just by holding conversation. He finished his tea and left a tip for the waitress before heading out to the cool, dark night.

The walk from the café to his home wasn’t long, but tonight, it felt like miles. There was a prickly feeling at the back of his neck, yet he ignored it, opting to lengthen his strides a bit more wider and quicker.

When he got to his door, he allowed himself a peek behind.

It was the wrong thing to do.

The moon was still high in the sky, illuminating the city, yet he felt that he stumbled into darkness when he saw her again, her the only light in his eyes. She was closer than last night, and this time Steven could tell that she wasn’t real, she was only a wisp, but he couldn’t tug his eyes away.

She wore the same smile from yesterday, seemingly warmer from this close—she was taking steps forward, nearing his face, but he blinked.

And then she was gone again.

As soon as he got into the house, he dialed up his father and asked if he could stay with him at Devon for a few nights.

—

“I think this issue is consuming you fully, Steven—you must let it go.”

Glacia was the most worried out of the Elite Four, constantly pestering him to close the League down for his rest, for this _issue_. Steven didn’t want to hear anything about it. His job was a distraction and he needed those the most.

Devon did not help at all. The long corridors of the building didn’t do him any good, as he feared whatever would be around the corner every time he walked one. His father remarked that he’s never seen his son this insecure ever since his mother died.

Steven hated him for a moment, the moment he brought her up. But he was raised a measured boy, and carried the weight of anger along with countless other things in the small space of his heart.

The next Sunday, he put on his best smile and insisted he was feeling better; in actuality, he was growing worse with company. He was able to convince everyone—including himself—that solitude was the answer to cure someone like him.

It wasn’t.

By the time Thursday had came, Glacia took matters in her own hands. The league was closed indefinitely, and the public believed it was because their beloved Champion was recovering from a strict illness. Steven laughed when she told him that—he’d pay anything to be physically ill instead of being emotionally haunted.

When she left him alone, he realised from the tilted lips that Glacia did not believe him at all. No one did.

That apparition hadn’t reappeared since the night he called his father, not in real life or subconscious, but it wasn’t the ghost that scared him the most. It was the anticipation, the scare factor. When will she come back? That was the reason he was tearing apart. 

Around three in the morning, his hands couldn’t hold his coffee mug without spilling it all over the floor, he finally collapsed on the arm of his settee.

He dreamed of endless hallways and ice.

—

The memory of everything that happened that fortnight was nothing more than a faded image in the back of his mind the next summer.

Steven was with Wallace, in the café they both frequented. Anything can change in a year, and it was their professions; Wallace loved wearing the Champion’s crown. It rather fit him well, Steven thought. 

As for himself, he had a different goal to chase—to find his meaning. Tomorrow would be his flight to Johto, making this his last night out with his friend.

He didn’t regret it. He was enjoying himself, speaking about his plans to expand his collection, when Wallace took a sip from his tea and spoke about something Steven never wanted to be reminded of.

“Have you ever found her?”

At first, he didn’t know what he was talking about. “Found who?”

“That girl who haunted you.”

Then he remembered, then the memories came crashing back—sleepless nights, fueled by caffeine, running from something he didn’t even know was. He stared at a wall, thoughts dancing around in his head.

“Steven?”

Wallace’s voice snapped him out of it, and for it he was grateful. “Wh—what is it?”

A best friend is a best friend for a reason. Leaning back, Wallace started recollecting what happened to him at the league today. 

Steven never laughed sadder the entire year.

—

He was five hours early to his flight. 

The memory of what happened in the café had faded away in months’ time. He on a ledge sat near the gate, waiting for it to be opened, catching up on today’s news when someone cleared their throat.

Steven looked up to see a man dressed in a janitor’s uniform. Before he could ask how may he help, the janitor turned his thumb to the waiting room. “There’s vacant seats. Sit over there instead of being an eyesore.”

Disregarding the man’s rudeness, Steven replied. “Alright, thank you,” he says, closing his newspaper and gathering up his luggage. “I’m terribly sorry for being a bother.”

The janitor just scoffed.

Not wanting to be around such people, he made his way to the waiting room, the broken wheel of his roller suitcase squeaking on the tiled, marble floor on the hallway. _I really need to get that fixed—_

That was her.

The girl that haunted him; the girl that broke through his dreams and heart.

Immediately, he stopped in his tracks, staring at her in the hallway. She was walking in the opposite direction, towards the gate to the terminals, and she paid him no mind.

And then she passed him without a single glance. Steven cursed himself internally, beating himself up over the fact he lost in chance—when he realised he still has one.

He turned around, searching for her, and she’s still there, the only one. So he shouts, not afraid of anyone hearing: “Wait! Please!”

She took a tiny glance backward before stopping, facing him fully. She seemed to have a slight hint of a smirk on her lips; like she had anticipated this all along. “How may I help?”

“I–it’s you,” he stammered, words tumbling over each other. “It’s you.”

Her smile just grew wider as she stepped closer to him; with every small tap from her shoes, his heart beated faster.

She got so close to him that her breath landed on his cheek. He could see her eyes shine when she whispered, “So, you’ve finally found me.”

Her touch was warm, her fingers now pressed against Steven’s cheek. It felt unreal, how familiar she was.

And then she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the croon of where it joined his shoulder, breathing in his scent. “You’re beautiful, Steven. I love you.”

He tensed up; he wasn’t expecting that at all. She was a stranger to him, but through her eyes it seemed like she regarded him as her lover. Steven wasn’t so sure of anything anymore. “What do you mean—”

Not having it, she scoffed. “Skip that all, Steven, and kiss me.”

She took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his, closing her eyes as she kissed him deep. Steven’s, in turn, widened; he was about to push her off when she broke the kiss, tracing the outline of his lips.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, stroking his cheek. “Why did you leave me?”

Steven’s mind came to a blank—all the dreams and hauntingd he had about her stopped flowing. “I don’t—I don’t remember,” he murmured, his arms around her going tense as he pulled away. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not an answer,” she replied, face going grim, taking her arms away from his neck and pushing him by his chest against the wall. He hit it with a dull thud, wincing a bit, putting his hands up in an act of surrendering. But she paid no mind; she stared him down hard, making him feel small. “Tell me the truth, Steven,” she said, wrapping her fingers around his throat. “Why did you leave me—”

Turbulence broke through his dream and jolted him awake. Blinking, he looked around first class—but everyone was too distracted by television, and they weren’t her.

His dream faded away as quickly as the clouds in the sky flew by. Steven let out a sigh and wiped the nervous sweat off his forehead. He closed his eyes again, leaning on the plane’s window, soon drifting back to sleep. This time, it was dreamless.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, i overslept and posted this a few hours late 
> 
> what is this? angst? symbolism? yeah, it's symbolism. is she a past lover? one from another life? or just another dream? i don't know, it's up to you XD
> 
> also, don't worry, this week will kill off all my angst stories left pft. don't worry about steven dying past saturday XD
> 
> thanks for sticking around with my hella long hiatus, and I've recently passed 50 watchers !!! nya thank you guys so much
> 
> see you tomorrow!


End file.
